The Ration Ticket

Excerpt from the diary of Jules Flegmon.

12 March. --
Last night, at six o’clock, I went to have a drink at the home of Perruque, of the Académie Française. As you know, the administration has accorded this lot of debris the privilege of full time life, in order not to compromise their reputation as "The Immortals". Perruque’s self-importance, hypocrisy, and spitefulness were revolting. There were about a dozen of us there, all sacrificers who were living out our last tickets of the month. He treated us with kindness, like diminished, impotent beings. He told us how he pitied us, with a nasty gleam in his eyes, promising to defend our interests in our absence. He was rejoicing at being, on a certain level, something more than we were. It was all I could do to keep from calling him an old goat and a mule carcass. Ah, if only I didn’t have hopes of succeeding him some day!